


Fire and Ice

by ThereBeWhalesHere



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Getting Together, Ice Skating, Inspired by Yuri!!! on Ice, M/M, Skating, figure skating AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:51:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9167017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereBeWhalesHere/pseuds/ThereBeWhalesHere
Summary: Based on aFigure Skating AUwhere Spock and Jim are competitive figure skaters who train together in the off-season then fall in love. It's mostly just a series of scenes,  so read the notes before each chapter so you know where it falls in the timeline. ThanksIristigerlilyfor spurring me on to write this thing!





	1. The Pond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place a month or so after Jim and Spock start talking frequently, during the off-season when they're training separately. It's the first time Jim decides to take the trip to Canada and spend some time with Spock. They don't know each other very well yet.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Jim.” Coach Komack’s voice was weary more than it was upset. Weary because Jim had been talking about this for months and at some point Komack had probably convinced himself that it was just a wild fantasy that would play itself out. Then, Jim would be over it and back to concentrating on his upcoming season.

 

But Jim, sitting in the locker room as though it was just any day after practice, pulled up his travel itinerary on his phone, hardly even glancing at his coach. “Well, this here says I paid $400 for a plane ticket to Toronto, so if I’m kidding it’s a pretty elaborate joke.” He held the phone up to Komack, who seemingly didn’t want to look at the evidence of his student’s idiocy.

 

“Jim, listen to me,” he said, pushing the phone aside. He sat next to Jim on the bench as Jim tucked his phone back into his pocket, knowing he was transparent in his innocent excitement, like a puppy whose owner had just pulled into the driveway. “We had a plan, remember? Spend all summer working on your quads, choreograph that program you’ve always wanted to do with that awful Queen song you like so much, and get you on the grand prix podium. We had a plan.”

 

“And we’ll still do it,” Jim promised, patting Komack’s shoulder with a smile. “I’m only going to be in Canada for a month. You can get a vacation, and I’ll still be working on my quads. Spock’s promised to help me with that salchow and clean up my triple axel. Can you think of anyone better to teach me than the best jumper in men’s singles skating?”

 

“ _ Me _ ,” Komack said, anger finally replacing weariness. He put a hand on his own chest as if reminding Jim that he existed. “Your  _ coach _ . You  _ pay  _ me to teach you these things!”

 

Jim laughed, refusing to give in to Komack’s frustration as he stood, stretched his arms out behind his back and breathed in deep. His shoulders cracked and he relaxed, far more at-ease than his coach. “One month,” he reiterated, “and I’ll come right back.”

 

The door to the locker room swung open, and they both turned to face it. Jim, relieved that someone was interrupting what could easily become one of Komack’s tirades, and Komack relieved to see reinforcements.

 

“What’s got you two keyed up?” Bones asked as he strode through the door. His trainer’s bag was over his shoulder, an unraveled ace bandage flying from one of its side pockets like a little flag. Leonard, or Bones as Jim called him, was one of the sports physicians here. Since it was technically an Olympic training center, he treated all kinds of athletes, but he and Jim had struck up a kind of friendship over the years.

 

“Leonard, thank God,” Komack said, standing. “Jim’s moving to Canada.”

 

Bones turned his eyes on Jim, who rolled his own. “I’m not mov--”

  
“ _ Canada _ ?” Bones dropped his bag with a thump. “Jim, you’re on the  _ American  _ Olympic team--”

“As an alternate--”

 

“Where’s your  _ patriotism _ ? Is this because of the election? Because we’ve talked about--”

 

“Bones,” Jim said, trying to draw on his endless reserves of patience. “I’m just going up there for a month to train with a friend. I’ll be back in no time.”

 

Bones and Komack exchanged a look, then Bones sized up Jim’s guilty smile. “You’ve already bought your plane ticket, haven’t you?”

 

Jim gave a noncommittal shrug, but Komack threw his arms in the air. “Without talking to his coach, of course.”

 

Bones huffed, picking up his bag. “I don’t trust those Canadian trainers. What if you get injured? Do they know about that broken ankle?”

 

“The one I broke when I was ten? No, Bones, I didn’t really feel like sending them my medical records.”

 

“What about your allergies? Do they know about those? So help me, Jim, if I have to fly up there--”

 

“Please don’t.”

 

“Jim doesn’t think of this as an official training exercise,” Komack put in, none-too-gently. “He’s treating it like a vacation.”

 

“Is that such a bad thing?” Jim felt his smile slip and didn’t bother bringing it back. He couldn’t wait to spend some time with Spock; all these high-strung emotions were getting to him. Spock at least was calm about things. “I’ll still be practicing, and I’ll be at a rink with plenty of support. I don’t know why you’re worried.”

 

Komack straightened his back, raking his eyes up and down his student. Jim knew Komack wasn’t always fond of his impulsiveness. Sometimes, it served him well. It meant he was an exciting skater to watch, impatient and charming and spontaneous. But off-the-ice it meant he had a habit of driving the people who cared about him up a wall. They shared a moment of silence, Jim trying to look entreating, Komack looking like he was trying to digest the fact that he’d been effectively suspended by his own student.

 

“Promise me one thing,” Komack said, resigned. Bones threw a hand in the air as if he couldn’t believe Komack was giving in.

 

“Shoot,” Jim said, a smile blooming once again.

 

“Promise me you aren’t flying all the way to Toronto to train with this guy because you want to sleep with him.”

 

Bones turned his horrified eyes onto Jim. “Is that what this is about? You’re going to Canada for a notch on your bedpost?”

 

Jim let out a “Pffff” and waved the both of them away, though he did feel his cheeks redden. “Please, you both know me better than that. I’m doing this for me. For my skating. That’s it. And it’s going to be  _ fun _ . Can’t a guy have fun?”

 

“And what does your friend get out of this arrangement?” That was Komack, arms crossed over his chest.

 

“A whole month with yours truly,” Jim responded brightly. “We’ve been keeping in touch, and I don’t think he has a lot of friends. This might be a good chance to get him to loosen up a little bit.”

 

Bones rolled his eyes and Komack sighed. “This  _ could _ be considered fraternizing with the enemy.”

 

Jim shrugged. “You know I don’t care about the politics of it all. So we’re going to make each other better skaters. Isn’t that the point of competition?”

 

“The point of competition is to win. Like you never do.”

 

“ _ Rarely _ do,” Jim corrected with an optimistic smile. He knelt and grabbed his duffel bag, then spared one glance around the locker room. He’d miss his home rink here in Colorado, even if only for a month, but the facilities in Toronto were stellar. More excited than nervous, he moved past Bones and his coach, trying not to grin at the scandalized looks on both their faces.

 

“I’ll send you both a postcard,” Jim promised with a wave over his shoulder, “something with a moose on it, probably.” Bones looked upwards as though entreating the heavens for patience, and Jim’s last sight of Komack was the man rubbing lines from his forehead, mouthing mantras from his anger management classes.

 

\---

 

Jim never really had anyone greet him at the airport. Normally when he flew in somewhere new, there were a few reporters (on-hand exclusively for the more high-profile skaters), but never family. Never friends. Even when he went home to Iowa he just met up with everyone at the farm. 

 

When he stepped out of security in Toronto, though, it took him less than a second to spot his welcoming party. Spock, straight-backed and straight-faced as ever, stood off to the side, glancing nervously around at the busy airport. Jim hefted his bag onto his shoulder and waved as he approached. 

 

“Hey there, Spock!” he shouted over the din. 

 

Spock’s eyes fell on him, and Jim could swear there was a smile in there. They may not have been friends yet, not entirely, but this was a good place to begin.

 

\----

 

Awkward wasn’t the best word in his wheelhouse to describe Spock, but it was the one he chose those first couple days. Though Jim thought their emails back and forth had been pretty clear that this was meant to be a fun visit (with some skating intermixed, of course) Spock approached it like a rigorous training exercise.

 

He’d taken Jim to his rink first thing, and introduced Jim to his coach. Christopher Pike was a bit of a legend. while never the most decorated skater himself, he’d coached gold medalists for years before taking Spock on. Jim could admit to being a little starstruck. Pike had complimented him on the last performance of his that he’d seen, and suggested they take to the ice so he could gauge his practice. Jim hadn’t even considered Pike’s instruction as a bonus to training with Spock, but he was glad for it.

 

Pretty much from that moment to now, a day and a half later, they’d been on the ice almost nonstop.

 

Normally, Jim wouldn’t mind. He loved skating, loved skating alongside others, and especially loved watching Spock skate. But he’d also taken this trip to get to know the guy, and it felt like that easy rapport they’d developed over distance had just… disappeared. 

 

Jim’s favorite moments had been these two evenings when Pike called it a day. Two nights in a row, now, he and Spock had had the rink to themselves. Tonight, Jim lazily glided along the walls, watching Spock in the middle of the rink work on his arm movements for the short program he’d been choreographing. The first night, he’d been a little worn-out, and (if he were being honest with himself) too nervous to speak up. 

 

Tonight, though? 

 

“You’re so stiff,” he called over the ice, freezing Spock mid-motion as the man turned to look at him. His nose was red-bitten with cold, but Jim suspected the flush on his cheeks had more to do with Jim’s comment than the temperature.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Jim abandoned his mindless circling and slid out to meet Spock in the center. “You’re so stiff,” he repeated. “This is what I was talking about earlier.” Earlier, of course, meant this spring, the last time he’d seen Spock in competition and the first time he’d gotten up the courage to ask for his number. It had felt like asking someone on a date, even knowing they were going to turn you down.

 

He’d been incredibly surprised that Spock hadn’t. Though he suspected once he started in about how Spock needed to ‘loosen up,’ the man regretted giving Jim his contact information.

 

“It is important to have absolute control over one’s movements,” Spock responded, lowering his arms and turning to face Jim. The skid of his skates on the ice made Jim’s teeth cold. “If you recall, that is what  _ I _ was talking about when I suggested how to improve your jumps.”

 

Jim wavered his hand back and forth, lips downturned. “Six of one, half a dozen of the other,” he said, and Spock just looked at him like he’d spouted gibberish. Jim sighed, kicking out his heel and rubbing his forehead. “Balance, Spock. It’s important to be controlled, sure, and that’s where I always mess up, but you have to look natural, too. That’s where _ you  _ always mess up.”

 

It was pretty audacious of him to speak this way to a man who’d mounted the podium in more competitions than Jim had even taken part in, but after two days of dancing around each other, he didn’t really want to bother with fake politeness. He only had a month here, and he wanted to use it. 

 

Spock looked at him skeptically, and Jim smiled. “Come on,” he said, and tugged Spock’s sleeve, pulling him along as he skated backwards. Spock followed, somewhat reluctantly, and they reprised Jim’s lazy circles around the rink. They were silent for a time, no sound but the swish of their skates. Jim was waiting for Spock to relax. It took a few laps, but he did, minutely. 

 

“I was four years old the first time I got on the ice,” Jim said, voice echoing strangely in the empty arena. Spock turned his head to him, but Jim kept his own eyes forward. “My dad had been this big hockey player before he met my mom, professional leagues and everything. So when the pond on our farm froze up every winter he’d be out there first chance he got. Dragged me and my brother Sam, too. I loved every minute of it. The second it clicked and I got that-- that balance, you know? That’s when I knew I wanted to do this for life.” 

 

He zipped out ahead of Spock a little, just enough to face him and keep his pace going backwards. Spock’s expression looked thoughtful as he listened. “Dad tried to get me into hockey,” Jim continued with a chuckle, “I even played in high school!” He crouched as he moved backwards toward the middle of the rink, mimicking the position he’d held his hockey stick in for four years and pretending to shoot a goal. “But I was never happier than when I was out on that pond alone in the middle of the night.”

 

He straightened, stuck out his arms and twirled, coming to a stop in the center where they’d started, giving Spock a smile. Spock joined him, his speed slow, his hands clasped behind his back as he skid to a stop. 

 

Perhaps sensing that Jim wasn’t finished, Spock remained silent, eyes on Jim’s. Jim hadn’t really looked into Spock’s eyes before, but he noticed now how dark they were, deep and inviting in their own way. He found it strangely soothing to use them as an anchor for his own gaze as they spoke.

 

“So that’s what I think about when I’m skating,” he said. “I think about dad cheering when I learned to go backwards or I think about how hellishly freezing Iowa gets in the winter and how the moonlight looks reflected on that natural ice…” he paused, realizing he was getting overly poetic and scratching the back of his head. He looked away. “So, I guess, I’m just saying. Or asking. Or, wondering. What do you think about when you skate?”

 

Jim heard Spock take a considering breath. He glanced up to see Spock’s eyes flicker around the empty rink, the darkened corridors that led to bright locker rooms, the streetlights shining in through the large windows. When his gaze came to Jim once again, he seemed almost sad. Jim wasn’t an expert on Spock’s emotions, not by a long shot, but watching the bare lines at the corners of his eyes deepen was like watching a dam break on anyone else.

 

“I think about the program,” Spock responded, as though that were the most logical response. Which, well, Jim supposed it was. “I think about my next jump or what I need to do to compensate for a mistake. I would imagine thinking of anything else would be distracting.”

 

“That’s kind of the point,” Jim said, a sad smile ticking the side of his mouth. “It doesn’t do you any good to think about the score when you’re supposed to be having fun out there.”

 

Spock seemed to genuinely absorb that sentiment, nodding slightly with his eyebrows drawn together. He pulled his eyes away from Jim’s and looked back toward the stands. “We have been practicing most of the day,” he said suddenly. “Are you hungry?” 

 

Figuring he could allow Spock the subject change for now, he patted his belly. “Starving. You’ve been riding me harder than Komack does, and I’m not even paying you,” Jim said with a laugh. He didn’t know what, but something had clicked between them. He thought he saw something more relaxed in the line of Spock’s shoulders.

 

Spock raised an eyebrow at him, “Indeed? Then perhaps you would like to purchase dinner?”

 

Jim socked him playfully in the arm, grin spreading wide over his face. “Says the guy with all the sponsors. But sure, I’ll get you dinner. It’s the least I can do.”

 

They skated out toward the boards, then made their way into the locker room as Spock recommended a few different restaurants that might suit their purposes (and Jim’s pocketbook). 

 

The conversation died down just as Jim was zipping up his jacket, just as he turned to see Spock setting his skates in his bag. There was something thoughtful on his face that Jim couldn’t place.

 

He was about to ask when Spock turned to him, determination written in his brows.

 

“My mother was a skater,” he said suddenly, surprising Jim with the delivery of it-- as though he had wanted to get out the words before he stopped himself from saying them. As Jim turned to face him fully, Spock looked down, almost embarrassed. “An excellent skater,” he continued. “An injury forced her into retirement and my father-- he did not approve of my choice to continue skating after that. Mother attends each competition that she is able to, but father refuses. In fact, we seldom speak. If I am being honest, Jim--” he huffed a breath out his nose and met Jim’s eyes. “That is what I think about when I am skating.”

 

Jim let that sink in for a minute, noticing the way Spock’s hands clenched around the strap of his bag, the way he didn’t seem to want to look up and meet Jim’s eyes. It was like Spock was trying to be open, trying to be honest and forthcoming, to share in the memory that Jim had shared with him. But everything in him looked to be rebelling against it.

 

For the first time, Jim felt like he was looking at the real Spock, and his heart ached. “I had no idea,” he admitted. He’d been curious what had gotten Spock into skating, but it hadn’t really occurred to him that a family member had been a competitor. It made sense, then, why Spock never looked like he was in love with the ice, not the way most other skaters were. Maybe, like his father, he resented the sport in a way. “Why did you keep skating?” Jim asked, when it looked like Spock wouldn’t continue. “After your mom got injured, I mean.”

 

“It was all I knew to do,” Spock said, an uncharacteristic shrug making its way to his shoulders. He hefted his bag as if to hide the gesture and slung it around his neck. “I believed I could prove that her years of practice and refinement had not been wasted. If I could continue skating, then she would continue skating through me, through what she taught me. It’s illogical, but--”

 

Spock stopped himself, then finally turned to face Jim again. It looked like he was trying to put his face back on, all hard lines and angled brows. Jim didn’t want to push or pry. Already this was more than he’d expected Spock to share. “I think it’s good of you,” he said, “to honor her like that.”

 

“Thank you, Jim.” Spock’s voice sounded sincere, if strained. 

 

They took a moment then to look at each other, size each other up, almost. Jim was seeing a whole new side of Spock, and Spock himself…well, he was searching Jim’s face for any sign of judgement or disapproval. He would find none. 

 

“So, how about that dinner?” Jim asked to break the moment, sensing that Spock wanted to move on from the subject. His senses seemed to be spot-on if the small breath of relief Spock let out was any indication.

 

“Certainly. I am prepared to leave.”

 

Jim grabbed his own bag and followed Spock out of the room, flicking off the light as he did so. The rink was dark, quiet, cold, and with the light coming in from the windows it reminded him--by feeling rather than by aesthetic-- of his family’s little pond in the moonlight. 

 

If he’d had a goal coming here, he thought it may have shifted after this conversation. Now, his mind swam with the thought of helping Spock find his own pond, a place of serenity in him, something to make him fall in love with the ice like Jim had.

 

If only he had any clue how to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone!!!! I was struck with inspiration to write this today, so here it is! It's been in my head. I think I'm going to just add chapters as I feel like writing them. It's never going to be one long, cohesive story, but just scenes intermixed within the AU. This is the exact opposite of the way I normally write (I'm all about chronological order) so it's kind of nice!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Talk to me on Tumblr: OneDamnMinuteAdmiral


	2. On top of the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure, tooth-rotting fluff. This takes place just two weeks after the previous chapter.

_ Can anybody find me somebody to love? _

 

Jim closed his eyes and smiled, leaning against the wall of the rink as the song played from the boombox beside him. There was something about those wistful, powerful first notes that just pulled him in immediately.

 

The first time he’d ever heard Queen was when he’d gone to his first ever hockey game with his dad and “We will Rock You” played out over the loudspeakers. His seven-year-old self had gleefully clapped and stomped with the rest of the arena, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. Sam had been so embarrassed, but Jim's dad had ruffled Jim’s hair and clapped along with him. When Jim got older, he’d devoured the band’s entire discography, and he’d had a program in mind for “Somebody to Love” since he was seventeen. 

 

So why this year? Well, Jim was strong enough to admit to himself that he was lonely. There was something about the longing of this song that resonated with him now more than ever. Devoting one’s entire life to a single pursuit didn’t leave a lot of room for things like relationships. At 24, he’d only ever been able to count a few people as friends, and even fewer people as more-than.

 

“It is more operatic than I had anticipated,” Spock remarked as the song played. He was sitting on the bleacher seat in front of Jim, tightening his skates. They hadn’t planned to work on programs today, but while they were supposed to be taking a break Jim had mentioned wanting to skate to this song. Spock had been curious to hear what had Jim so excited.

 

“I still can’t believe you’ve never heard Queen before,” Jim said for the hundredth time, opening his eyes to the sight of Spock looking at him thoughtfully. “There’s nothing wrong with skating to classical music, but you’ve got to expand your horizons.”

 

Spock’s lips quirked. “You have said as much, but I must admit that moving to this kind of music does not come naturally to me.”

 

Jim grinned, something wide and undying. He knelt to remove the shields from his skates and set them on the barrier. Then, he held out a hand to Spock.

 

Spock glanced at it for a moment, looked back up to Jim and accepted the gesture, allowing Jim to pull him to his feet. 

 

They stepped out onto the ice together before Jim released him. Then, he took off backwards, sailing away on his skates as the second verse kicked in. 

 

“Just dance,” he called to Spock, who was standing stiffly at the edge of the rink. Jim sank into a spin.

 

_ I get down on my knees, and I start to pray… _

 

He slid into an Ina Bauer, then kicked up his leg and hopped into a simple jump. 

 

_ Til the tears run down from my eyes, lord… _

 

He cast his eyes back to Spock as he regained his speed, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen the guy so tentative. Making up his mind, Jim zipped over to him and took his hand again, pulling him toward the center of the rink and hoping Spock had taken enough dance classes to know how to respond to being led.

 

_ Oh somebody! Can anybody find me... _

 

Jim twisted and Spock twisted with him. He kicked up his skate and Spock followed suit. They zoomed around the edges of the rink and Jim laughed, holding up their joined hands and nudging Spock into a spin, which he executed gracefully despite its surprise. 

 

_ Can anybody find me somebody to love? _

 

The lyric rang out, and when Spock pulled out of his spin he looked to be laughing, too. At least as much as he ever did, a smile at the corner of his lip that made Jim’s heart thrum uncomfortably in his chest.

 

“What part of ‘lunch break’ don’t you two understand?” A voice rang out and Jim whipped his head around to the rink’s entrance where Pike was striding in with a hoagie in one hand and a drink in another.

 

Jim skid to a stop and Spock followed suit, looking flushed, the smile now absent from his lips. 

 

“Apologies, Coach-- erm, Pike. Sorry.” Jim said loud enough for Pike to hear, recovering himself. He had taken to calling Pike ‘Coach’ over the two weeks he’d been here in Toronto, and he had a feeling if his own coach knew about it he’d be furious. Best to break himself of the habit if he could. He slid over to the boombox perched on the wall and shut it off, just as the next song began to play. “We were just having fun.” 

 

Pike rolled his eyes as he descended the steps, but his smile took the sting out of the gesture. Spock skated up to meet Jim at the edge of the rink, placing his hands on the barrier and looking contrite. “Fun’s all well and good,” Pike said, “but with as much as you two practice, you’re going to need to rest sometime.”

 

Jim didn’t exactly disagree. He’d spent more time on the ice these last couple weeks than he usually did, and his feet weren’t thanking him for it. 

 

“Why don’t you hit the showers and take the rest of the day off,” Pike suggested, directing the comment mostly to Spock. “Show your friend around. Jim, you’ve been here two weeks and you haven’t been sightseeing at all, have you?”

 

Jim’s eyes lit up and he turned quickly to Spock, a plea in his expression he didn’t even want to bother hiding. One of Jim’s favorite things about competitive figure skating was travel. Every city he visited, he made a concentrated effort to get out and enjoy at least once. He hadn’t wanted to impose since Spock was gracious enough to host him, but if it was an order from Spock’s coach…

 

“That’s a logical point,” Spock acquiesced eventually, meeting Jim’s eyes for only a moment before he looked away. “But I don’t--”

 

“Spock, look around,” Pike said, gesturing to the empty rink. “You’re the only one of my students who ever stays past noon on a Saturday, especially when it’s 80 degrees and sunny. Go enjoy yourselves.”

 

Jim beamed, slipping past Spock to the edge of the rink and wasting no time affixing the guards to his skates once again. “Well, if you insist,” he said, fooling no one into thinking he’d needed convincing. He looked to Spock, who hadn’t moved. “Are you coming?”

 

Spock’s resolution looked to waver on the matter, and Jim was struck again with wondering why Spock seemed so reticent to do anything but practice. Half the time, Jim was pretty sure Spock was terrified of his company. In the evenings, when they went back to Spock’s apartment (where Jim had been staying), Spock almost immediately muttered out a good night and retreated to his room, no matter how early it was. If they hadn’t eaten yet, they’d cobble together some kind of dinner and chat while they ate, but then Spock would retreat the second the dishes were done.

 

When they did talk, over meals or during breaks at the rink, it went well. Jim thought they eased into conversation fairly easily, considering how different they seemed to be, but Spock had some kind of reluctance in him that Jim hadn’t figured out yet. 

 

“Very well,” Spock finally conceded, as though it was painful for him. He stepped off the ice as Pike shook his head, sharing a look with Jim that was almost apologetic. 

 

Jim just smiled, brushing it off. Spock was shy-- he knew that well enough by now. And Jim was nothing if not patient. 

 

\----

 

With a whole afternoon to whittle away, Jim was delighted. Komack had gotten on his case about treating this trip like a vacation, but this was the first time he’d actually felt like he was taking one. The first place they went, or rather, the first place Jim insisted they go, was the Royal Ontario Museum, which he had read about a thousand times and always wanted to visit. Considering Spock’s eyes lit up when he suggested it, he was rather proud of his choice.

 

But, if he were being honest, he ignored Spock half the time they were in there. His eyes stayed pretty much glued to whatever wall or display was in front of him at any given moment, and he probably bored Spock with how long they stayed in each exhibit. Not to say they didn’t interact at all, of course. Jim grabbed Spock by his sleeve and dragged him along, chattering wildly about how he’d always been fascinated by the ocean, or how he’d seen photos from the Schad Gallery of Biodiversity but never thought it would be so fascinating in person.

 

That particular exhibit had launched him into talking (for the duration of time it took them to walk through three more galleries) about the world and all its implications, space and the universe and their place in it. The more he talked, though, the more relaxed Spock seemed to become. He watched Jim with a careful half-smile on his face, occasionally offering his input. Jim was thrilled that Spock didn’t seem to mind his rambling, and even more thrilled that he kept up with it. Jim didn’t consider himself a vastly intelligent person, but he had a lot of interests that people didn’t always understand. Spock understood, and knew more about most of these interests than Jim himself did.

 

It was a nice change of pace. Nice enough to distract Jim for hours. By the time they wandered back into the lobby, it was already near-dusk. They hadn’t even traversed the whole museum. He looked to Spock, a little contrite. 

 

“Ah, sorry,” he said, recognizing there was little point in apologizing when the damage was already done. Though Spock had seemed to enjoy himself, Jim couldn’t help feeling guilty for stealing the whole afternoon. “I think I got a little carried away.”

 

“We both did,” Spock said gently, and he held open the wide glass door for Jim to exit. “Have you given any thought to where you would like to go next?”

 

Jim shrugged as they made their way back to Spock’s car, quite a ways away in the massive parking lot. “I’m going to be honest, Spock. I know one thing about Toronto, and that’s it.” He gestured at the museum behind him, and Spock ducked his head as if to hide a chuckle. But, of course, that was impossible. Spock didn’t laugh.

 

“I might suggest the CN Tower,” Spock said, returning his eyes to Jim’s. There was a light in them that Jim didn’t fail to notice. Maybe all it took was a museum and a little quality time for Spock to get over whatever it was he had needed to get over. “It is almost dinnertime, and the view from the restaurant is remarkable.”

 

Jim’s whole face lit up, and he grabbed Spock’s arm. “Okay, now _ that _ I  _ have _ heard of. But isn’t it outrageously expensive?”

 

Spock shrugged. “I believe you are on vacation,” he said. “And you have purchased dinner multiple evenings. As your host, I am happy to oblige.”

 

Jim thought back to the burgers (vegetarian for Spock) that he’d bought a few nights back, then to the street tacos and the one Italian place that had been fancy, but not 360 Restaurant fancy. Then, he reminded himself that Spock  _ was _ the one with all the sponsors, and he _ had _ offered.

 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Jim promised immediately, a spring in his step as they reached the car. “What do you want? You want me to polish your skates every day? Drive the zamboni? Do a chicken dance? Anything.”

 

They settled into the car and Spock gave him a considering look. It lasted a little longer than Jim had expected, given he’d just thrown out a few perfectly viable options, but something in Spock’s manner suggested he knew what he wanted, but didn’t know how to phrase it.

 

Finally, he let out a breath through his nose. “I would like your help choosing the music for my free skate.” he said. Jim just blinked at him as those words sank in. He wasn’t even sure he heard Spock correctly. He took a moment too long to reply, if the way Spock shifted in his seat was any indication. Before Jim could fully absorb the request, Spock continued as if trying to explain himself. Haltingly. “Coach Pike’s recommendations have been… unsatisfactory, and I am lacking in inspiration. The music you have selected for your short program-- while outside my typical genre-- is inspiring in its own way. You have--” he paused. “You have a great deal of enthusiasm.”

 

Jim didn’t think he had the capacity to smile wider, but he did. The yellow light of dusk filtered in through the windshield and colored Spock in warm hues, cast shadows in the lines at the corners of his lips where he held his nerves. He was actually nervous about asking Jim for this simple favor, but Jim couldn’t fathom why. In that moment, Jim was so grateful for him.

 

“Of course,” he said as soon as he remembered how to speak again. “Of course, Spock. It would be my honor.”

 

Spock seemed to relax at that, those nervous lines smoothing themselves from his face. He turned back to the dashboard and finally turned the key in the ignition. “Thank you, Jim. Perhaps we can discuss options over dinner.”

 

They did end up doing so, but the conversation ebbed to and away from the topic of music more than once. Dinner lasted almost as long as the trip to the museum had, between the long wait for the table and the fact that, when they were chatting about everything and nothing, time didn’t seem to matter much. The floor at the 351 meter mark of the CN Tower, where they had their meal, was nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows, and more than once Jim caught himself looking wistfully out over the city and remarking on the height, the view, all the things people said when they were on top of the world. The sky turned from dusk to nighttime as they sat there, and the city lights blinked beautifully below them.

 

Sometimes, he’d catch Spock’s reflection in the glass, and sometimes their eyes would meet. Whenever it happened, Spock would look away, almost shyly, almost as though he didn't realize that if Jim caught him looking, it meant Jim was looking too.

 

After dinner, they took the last elevator to the top of the tower, and stood there together for a good long while. This was the only time the conversation died down, because Jim felt a kind of floating perspective as he watched cars the size of gnats zoom along the pavement far below. They were surrounded by people, other tourists and lookie-lous, snapping selfies and talking loudly about the view, but Jim didn’t notice them. His world was bigger and smaller than anyone in that moment, encompassing both the whole of the horizon and Spock, by his side.

  
For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel so lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just keep writing this!!! I'm neglecting other projects, but this is what's making me happy right now, so I'm okay with it. I hope you don't mind I'm just writing what I feel like writing, including this fluff pile of them falling in love. So like, anyway, thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> [ALSO PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CHECK OUT THIS AMAZING ARTWORK BY IRISTIGERLILY. I STARE AT IT ALL THE TIME AND I LOVE IT.](http://iristigerlily.starfleet.space/post/155571488768/figure-skatingyuri-on-ice-au-kirk-from)  
> (I'm so sorry I don't know how to embed images or I'd put them everywhere)


	3. Fire and Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is basically the end of the story, two years after they became friends.

Jim rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes burning from the glare of the ice, heart hammering– still a little out of breath. His coach, Komack, sat beside him, and Jim could feel the man’s narrowed eyes fixed on the large screen above the rink. Jim almost didn’t want to hear his score. He hadn’t done badly, not by a long shot, but Spock was up next, and Jim’s mind hadn’t wandered far from the subject of Spock in a long time.

He knew his depression had eked its way into his performance, which was usually where he racked up the points. The short program he’d composed was supposed to be charming. He’d worn a tuxedo, open at the neck, glitter dusted along its shoulders, playing the part of the schmoozer, the romancer, the confident, well-to-do type. The music had been a selection from Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue.” Komack had suggested it because that confidence had always been Jim’s strength. Not so much anymore.

He and Spock hadn’t spoken for months. Now, in the first grand prix series qualifying event, they were up against each other like some sick twist of fate. Jim didn’t want to see Spock– at least that’s what he told himself– but he’d spent his entire warmup trying to catch his friend’s eye all the same. Spock was quiet, reserved as ever, and he didn’t once look at Jim. They’d both needed their space after what had happened, but Jim ached with the loss of the friendship they’d built over the last couple of years.

“And the score for James Kirk is 98.32!” the announcer bellowed. The crowd waved their American flags and shouted and stamped, and Jim felt a hard hand slap his back as Komack’s grin shined in the bright lights. “Looks like all that training with your Canadian friend came in handy,” he said, and Jim gave him a tired smile.

Komack hadn’t been happy when he’d run off to train with Spock– both times– but when he came back with a new quad in his repertoire, cleaner jumps all-around, and a lot more motivation to win, it wasn’t like his coach could complain. Heck, Komack had even nurtured their friendly rivalry for a time. Jim hadn’t yet had the heart to explain to him that he’d ruined everything during his last visit to Toronto, and that those special Canadian training sessions were a thing of the past.

His eyes turned from Komack and found Spock’s still and stoic form on the other side of the rink, speaking with his coach, Chris. Jim had gotten to know Christopher Pike pretty well when he’d been training with Spock, and he could tell just by looking that the man was nervous. Spock, though, was the picture of composure, back straight, hands held evenly at his sides. Jim admired the outfit he’d chosen for his program– black slacks, a white, belted tunic, wide sleeves with red sequins up to the elbows and trailing up in swirls to his shoulder blades, recalling Jim of fire.

Jim had suggested once that Spock perform in red, do something daring and passionate– unexpected. Maybe Spock had remembered that. Or maybe he’d channeled his anger at Jim into his short program and planned to perform a piece that drew on that fire. Either was possible at this point.

Komack stood, looking like he was making to leave, but Jim remained on the bench, watching Spock exchange a few words with Chris before nodding and turning. Jim’s eyes were drawn to the plunging collar of Spock’s tunic, which exposed a smattering of wiry chest hair. Swallowing, Jim drew his eyes back upwards. Spock slid gracefully into the center of the ice, facing Jim. Their eyes met, though he was sure Spock couldn’t see him from out there.

Then, Spock lowered his head to stare at his feet, a deep breath pulling fabric taut along his shoulders.

“S’chn T’gai Spock of Canada, performing a piece of Scriabin’s ‘Le Poème de l'extase,’” the announcer said.

The Poem of Ecstasy? That didn’t sound like Spock at _all_.

The music struck up with its first cord and Spock raised his head in time to the music, lifting a graceful hand to his side, which fell with the next beat, he turned, pushed himself off from the ice and began to dance– but in a way Jim had never seen him dance before.

Unconsciously, Jim rose, making his way to the boards and nearly gasping as Spock skated past him, a fire in his eyes that Jim couldn’t help but notice. Spock leapt, spinning into his first quad– a toe loop. He landed it perfectly, arms out, and Jim didn’t even have it in him to cheer with the rest of the roaring crowd. He gaped, watching the trails left behind by Spock’s skates, twisting and twining with the intricate movement of his feet. Spock ran his hands down his body, from chest to hip, then drew them back up as he spun.

Jim’s heart was pounding, watching the gentle part of Spock’s open lips as he breathed through the exertion, remembering what those lips had felt like under his own the night he’d made that life-changing mistake. It had just been one kiss, one kiss that had been so long-awaited, so desperately desired.

Desire– that’s what he saw in Spock’s performance now, but desire wasn’t _Spock_. Spock didn’t _want_. He didn’t pine and wish and hope and pray like Jim did– not for the same things Jim did, at least. Certainly not for what Jim saw in him now. Spock lept again, a triple lutz, double toe-loop, one of Jim’s favorite combinations from Spock’s free skate last season. Jim had enthusiastically complimented him on it, on how easily he’d transitioned between the jumps, how graceful it had been. 

When Spock zoomed past him on the ice again, Jim caught his eyes and saw– no– _hallucinated_ a smile in them.

He had to be hallucinating. Because after Spock had shoved Jim away, wiping his mouth like that kiss had been the most disgusting thing he’d ever been subjected to… how could he be smiling at Jim _now_?

The music began to crescendo and Spock lept into a quad salchow, then slipped into an effortless combination spin, leg high in the air before his speed picked up and he dipped. When he came back up, his arms opened, hands twisting gracefully upwards then extending out, coming to rest as his spinning slowed. The music began to trail off and he skidded to a stop, facing Jim, arms out, as though welcoming him into an embrace.

The audience was screaming, stamping, tossing flowers onto the ice, but Jim couldn’t hear anything. His eyes were transfixed on Spock, on the rise and fall of his chest, the flush of his cheeks, the sweat along his hairline that glinted in the arena’s bright lights. Jim wasn’t hallucinating. There was a smile there, barely expressed in the tick of his lips but practically singing from the look in his eyes. The announcer was saying something, but all Jim could hear was the scrape of Spock’s skates on the ice as he tucked a knee and bowed, holding out his arms to the rest of the stadium then moving toward Jim.

Or, no. Of course, he was moving toward the kiss-and-cry to Jim’s side, where Spock’s coach waited next to Komack, exchanging quiet words that Jim wouldn’t have cared about even if he’d noticed.

Spock approached and scooped a flower from the ice, then stepped off the rink, ducking his head. Pike ran up to Spock with a smile, patting him on the back and handing him his skate guards. “Flawless, absolutely stunning. If that’s not a personal best I don’t even know–”Jim didn’t catch the rest. He wasn’t even sure he caught that much. He stopped listening when Spock looked to him.

Jim hadn’t been able to move since the start of Spock’s program and now here he was, still transfixed even though the performance had ended. Spock, almost casually, knelt to affix the guards to his blades, then rose. Pike seemed to notice that Spock’s attention wasn’t on the praise of his coach right now, and Jim watched him step back, rolling his eyes and exchanging a pointed look with Komack.

“I– congratulations!” Jim managed to say as Spock made his way toward him, swallowing something hard in his throat in order to make it possible to speak. “That was… it was really amazing, Spock.” He kept a hand steady on the wall, if only to keep himself upright. Spock came to a stop directly in front of him, and Jim tried not to look him in the eyes, not to drag his gaze over his face or come to rest on his lips– but he failed miserably.

“I believe,” Spock said, voice low so Jim had to lean in to hear him over the din of the crowd, “it was always your advice that I perform with passion. It seems I could not channel it until I felt the risk of losing it. Or, rather, losing you.”

Suddenly, Jim realized that the flush of Spock’s cheeks wasn’t just a result of his exertion. He was blushing, something shy and scared coming into his expression that hadn’t been present on the ice. Reluctantly, Spock held out the flower for Jim to take. He did, his mind too numb to refuse it.

“Me?”

“I owe you an apology, Jim,” Spock said, and Jim’s heart thrummed with the sound of his name, spoken with such reverence and longing that Jim couldn’t deny it anymore. That _had_ been desire Spock had expressed on the ice. Desire for–

“100.89!” the announcer shouted, spurring another round of cheers as maple leaf flags waved in Jim’s periphery. “A personal best!”

Jim felt his lips splitting into a grin and he ran his fingers softly over the stem of the flower in his hands, bringing it to his chest. The cameras were on them, since Spock hadn’t even gone to the bench for his score, so it would be supremely stupid to lay a kiss on those tempting lips right now, but by the look in Spock’s eyes he figured he may not have to wait much longer.

“Looks like I’m going to have to step up my game,” Jim said, amazed that the score didn’t seem to affect Spock at all. “You’re going to regret helping me with my quads.” He winked, feeling a bubble of elation that he knew was going to carry him through the rest of this competition, and much longer than that.

“Never,” Spock assured him. He stepped back. “Though I suspect you now regret helping me with my performance.”

“Never,” Jim echoed, laughing. “Right now, that’s looking like the best decision I ever made.” He placed a hand on Spock’s arm and guided him away from the ice. The next performer would be up soon, and Jim was anxious for the limelight to fall elsewhere. They had a lot to talk about, but Jim had a feeling Spock had said more with his performance than he could ever say with words.

“I want you too,” “I miss you,” “I’m sorry.”

And really, that was all Jim needed to hear.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Had a lot of fun writing it!  
> Talk to me on tumblr: OneDamnMinuteAdmiral


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